Caleb
Cluff
| Hawk
moths Easter rain brings the hawk moth large as a purse; abdomen fat as a friar's finger. Black velvet button eye, they hang sharp as jet fighters, wrinkled as coats, On every wall. Dog smoking When this day is gone I shall put my face against something cool, perhaps some tin shed out of the light, and not think. I shall roll my cheeks against it, or the back of my head, and let the zinc etch its mottle standard and mend me, while I smoke. Open my mouth, inhale nebulae and expel dust. ( just to see it unrolling its blanket tongue on the undiscovered mattress of dark.) Accident I bought a new car, and my new car killed a hawk. Not a loud death - more like a suitcase hitting the floor, clasp not bursting open, contents not spilling forth. Just small, feathered death. No mistaking death (you were the eye) I have seen you falling from the sky. >>>Douglas Barbour
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